Remnants of a Broken Mind

Your face it haunts My once pleasant dreams Your voice it chased away All the sanity in me

“Be still.”

It is all I can remember. Just two words that play over and over in my brain. But they mean nothing to me, they are just words. I sigh and shift slightly in the hospital bed. My head aches badly, I've been trying too hard to force a memory that isn't there to surface. The doctors tell me not to overwork myself. They say it will lead to me being restrained like the last time. I don't remember a last time, hell I don't even remember a first time, it's all blank.

The pretty blue-eyed nurse tells me that I am too cute, that some lucky man must be looking for me. I just shrug my shoulders at the comment. From what I've overheard, I've been here for years. If there is someone looking for me, they've probably moved on and forgotten that I even exist. I don't blame anyone though. How can I if I can't even remember them? Sometimes I picture someone, usually a celebrity from TV, searching the world and overcoming deadly traps just to reach me. It helps when the pain becomes unbearable, but the reverie only lasts as long as the morphine does.

I look around the small room that I'm sitting in. It's empty except for a small television and a small mirror in the corner. It looks sad, with bleached areas that suggest that there may have been other furniture at one point in time. I let another sigh pass my lips, this time it indicates the sudden tiredness that has crept up on me. I try to yawn, but hiccup instead. A smile forms on my face, but I hold in the laugh that wants so desperately to be set free. I don't know how loud or quiet I might be if I decide to just let go of my restraint and I really don't want to find out. What if I sound like a hyena? What if I'm incapable of making even the slightest sound that may show my amusement? What if I am a mute?

The thought scares me terribly. Not because I'm fond of words, but because I can picture the way things will be if my voice is something I just can’t have. My hands reach to my throat, slowly stroking my skin as if to coax out some sort of response. I open my mouth. “Hello?” I squeak out. I smile again and add a point to the sudden scoreboard in my head. So I'm not a mute, what else am I not?

I decide to try out my legs. I start by wiggling my toes. At first I can't feel anything, just warmth that begins to travel up my legs and into my waist. My heart starts to beat fast behind my ribcage as a morbid thought crosses my mind. What if I don't have legs? Maybe they were cut off in a war. Maybe I was some sort of hero and my only consequence was the loss of my legs. The possibilities are endless and end quickly when pins and needles attack my feet, growing more powerful with each soft wiggle. I throw the thin sheet that covers me aside and stare mesmerized at the wonderful site. Two beautiful legs jut out from my hips, dancing selfishly to the beat that I have chosen to hum. I stand up and walk to the television and back. It's amazing, the feeling of the cold tile floor against the soles of my feet, the way my calf muscles flex perfectly with each step; everything is just wonderful.

Suddenly, I realize that I don't know what I look like. I know that my arms and legs are tanned and slightly muscular. I know that I have breasts that protrude from my chest and that my body reminds me of the number eight, but my face is a mystery. I stop walking. I turn to the small mirror in the corner, eyeing it, wondering what secrets it is hiding. I lift and eyebrow, debating whether I truly want to find out what lies in its bright surface. I could be hideous. I could be average. I could be so stunning that I fall in love with myself, I don't know. I inhale deeply, holding it as I walk toward the porcelain that will reveal everything. I close my eyes right before I approach in front of the mirror. I'm not sure if I'm ready, but I force my mind to count to three anyways. Three passes and so does ten, I can't do it. But then my eyelids lift, almost as if someone has opened them against my will. I'm still holding my breath.

To my relief, I'm not ugly, but I'm not incredibly beautiful either. I'm just average, I guess. I don't really know what average is, but I'm not as good-looking as the pretty blue-eyed nurse. So I think this is average. My eyes are a pale blue and small. Dark purple bags sit beneath them, puffed up from a lack of sleep. My lips are thin, but not so much that they are non existent. I have a soft jaw line that leads to a thin neck which then leads to small shoulders. My hair is a dark brown, maybe even black; it's too tangled and dirty to actually tell. I run my fingers along my small, slightly crooked nose, it isn't perfect but it's mine and I like it.

It's then that I notice I'm not alone. A man stares at me through the mirror, smiling like he was proud of me or something. He wasn't there before, I would have noticed. I narrow my eyes at him, hoping that my glare is received to the full extent.

“Go away.” I tell him as I turn to face him instead of his reflection.

He shakes his head, but continues to smile. He's handsome when he smiles we both know that. We also know that he's not going away anytime soon. I click my tongue then bite my lower lip. I don't want him here.

“I'm not afraid of you.” I say.

He laughs. It's loud, vibrating my brain like the laugh was coming from my own head.

“I'm better now,” I cross my legs one over the other and spin on my toes to show just how well I really am. “See?”

“Then why am I here?” he asks. His voice reminds me of caramel cascading onto a fresh scoop of ice cream, rich and smooth. A shiver runs down my spine.

“I. . .I don't know.”

“Yes you do.”

“Uh-Uh.”

“C'mon,” he says as he takes a few steps toward me. “We aren't going to play this game again.”

Again, I think silently. This means that this has happened before, probably more than once. I look at the man and I know him, I remember him. I bite down on my lip, releasing a thin ribbon of blood down my chin. The man closes the gap between us. His hands reach to my arms, touching my skin with a warm caress that makes my body tense up. He is gentle as he rests his forehead on mine, still stroking my arms as if he were trying to warm a block of ice.

“Say it.” he whispers. Again I picture caramel falling in thick ribbons.

My mouth remains thin with my front teeth digging deep into my flesh. I don't want to cooperate. I close my eyes so I can't see him, but I can still feel him. He takes my chin in his hands and wipes the blood away with his thumb. The gesture is kind, holding so much emotion that is nearly burns the spot where he is touching me. Still, I refuse to obey his request.

“Please?” He's begging me now. He never begs. My defenses are cracking, readying themselves to shatter into a million pieces. I can't hold out any longer, but I continue to try. He moves his head, burying it into the crook of my neck. His lips press against my body and I shake.

“Just once.” he says.

I close my eyes tighter.

“Brian.” I say, finally conceding to his wishes. I say what he always asks me to. His name falling from my lips is all he ever wants; it's all he ever needs. And I hate saying it.

He stands straight again. I open my eyes to stare into his bright green orbs. Tears sit in his eyes, clinging onto him for dear life, mocking what I so badly want to do. His arms wrap around my waist, my arms wrap around his shoulders. I don't want to be so close to him, but I don't want to let him go. He is my saving grace, the one thing that keeps me sane when everyone doubts me. He believes in me and as much as I immerse myself in his charm it threatens to drown me.

“Brian, I'm better. I swear.” I say. I've taken the initiative to press my face into his chest, breathing in his scent. Its musky, like dirt and cinnamon mixed together.

“I know,” he says. His fingers are intertwined in my hair. I wonder silently how he it able to run his hand through that mess when I myself am powerless to do anything with it. “I know your better, but they don't. They still think you are sick.” He takes my face in his hands, bringing my eyes up to meet his. “Prove it to them. Show them that you're just fine. Please?”

“What if I can't? What if I mess up and they know?”

He smiles. “How can they know something if it isn't true?” He leans down and kisses my lips. I want to cry, but I remain strong because he wants me to. “I know you can do it.”

I don't believe that I can. I want to believe because he does, but it's a hard thing to do. I just nod my head slowly in an attempt to hide how scared I really am. I've never fooled them before, they always know. Still, I promised him I'd try and that is exactly what I'm going to do.

He tries to kiss me again, but I wince as the sound of the doorknob turning echoes through the room. I look at the metal door then back to him, but he is gone. He always leaves before they come in, he says it's because he is afraid of them; I know he’s lying.

The door opens and the pretty blue-eyed nurse steps in. She smiles at me and I return the gesture. I walk back to my bed and lay down. She tells me again about the man who is probably looking for me as we speak, this time she elaborates on the story. This time she tells me his eyes are green and that he's handsome when he smiles.

“Maybe is name is Max or Anthony.” She says.

She smiles down at me with perfect teeth and full lips. I just shrug my shoulders. She takes a needle from her pocket, telling me that I won't feel a thing. Her hands are cold when she touches my arm. Just as quickly as it came her touch is gone, her smile never fading for a second. The syringe goes back into her pocket and she turns to leave.

“Brian.” I call out.

She looks at me from over her shoulder. “What?”

“Brian,” I repeat. “The man who is looking for me, his name is Brian.”

Once again she smiles, though this time it is much wider. “I like that name.”

She walks out of my room, closing the door carefully behind her. I relax into the mattress beneath me, breathing in a strong scent of dirt and cinnamon. He's back.

“How did I do?” I ask. I turn to my side to face him, trying hard to simply indulge myself in his handsomeness.

“Just fine.” He says while wearing a smile. His arms are now around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. I curl up against him like a cub seeking protection from its mother. He kisses the top of my head, my fingers grip his shirt and I close my eyes. The medicine that the nurse gave me starts to kick in; I can't stay awake like I want to.

I clutch onto him tightly. “Stay with me.” I beg. It's a request that won't be met; he'll be gone when I wake. He only stays until I fall asleep, but he comes back eventually.

I hear him say something before I fall asleep, I can’t make out his words; they’re too far away for me to hear. He lifts his hand to stroke my hair, allowing me to slip deeper and further away from where he is.

“I’ll be here,” he says. His voice is now inside of my head, loud and clear like a siren piercing through a busy street. I try to bring his body closer to mine, but the medicine has taken full affect now and I am completely numb. His thumb runs along my bottom lip and his lips meet my forehead.

“Be still.”

I smile.